


You are my Garden of Eden (Spring)

by spatialsoloist



Series: Seasons of Love [3]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Domestic, I smushed them up together I'm sorry, M/M, Romance, this turned out to be a big Akafuri-Midotaka one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 00:57:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1570076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spatialsoloist/pseuds/spatialsoloist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Weddings are innately difficult things to plan. Fortunately, Akashi Seijirou is experienced in that field, like all other matters. And perhaps, more fortunately still, Furihata Kouki’s around to make sure Akashi doesn’t go off on a tangent, as usual.</p><p>Thank goodness for that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You are my Garden of Eden (Spring)

**Author's Note:**

> So some people wanted an Akafuri one— interestingly enough I had actually written a portion of this story before I finished the Kagakuro fic. Writing just never goes the way you want it to (sighs).
> 
> Please excuse the fact they they are all slightly out of character. I'm so sorry- I tried, lmao. I seriously tried. I love these morons, how could I not? UuU
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read this, and thank you for the kudos or comments you guys left on my previous stories! You all seriously give me life~ ヽ（ ﾟヮﾟ）ﾉ.・ﾟ*｡・+☆ *｡・+☆ 
> 
> This will probably make more sense if you read 'Winter' first, and maybe the KagaKuro one if you're up for it, ha ha.
> 
> Please enjoy~

“Oh, will you look at that,” Akashi says nonchalantly first thing on Tuesday morning when Midorima walks into Meeting Room B. Midorima twitches and goes rigid instantly, millions of years of evolutionary instinct tell him to flee. Kise looks up from where he’s seated with a couple of ladies from sales, confused.

 

“Look at what, Akashicchi?”

 

“I do believe it’s time to offer a congratulations to Shintarou,” Akashi smiles. “That’s a lovely ring he’s got on his finger.”

 

“Akashi—” Midorima begins, a note of panic in his voice, but Kise and the girls had already let out shrieks of excitement and all but pounced upon the poor man. Midorima fell backwards into a chair with a shout surprise that morphed into annoyance when Kise yanked his left hand into view. A smooth, elegant gold ring glints in the florescent lights.

 

“Oh my god, Midorimacchi! You’re engaged! You got engaged to Takaocchi! Did you propose? Or did he propose? No, wait, I bet he proposed, you’re too shy to do something like that!”

 

“Oi! I was the one who asked!” Midorima protests indignantly, and then looks as though he immediately regretted his words when Kise’s jaw drops to the ground and the ladies squeal in delight.

 

“ _Midorimacchi!!_ You’re all grown up! My precious little Midorimacchi is grown up! He’s getting married like a grown up! Midorimacchi! I’m so proud! I’m so proud of you!” Kise wails as he bursts into actual tears now, latching onto Midorima with a rib-breaking hug. Midorima made a choking noise as he flailed his arms wildly as their coworkers all begin applauding happily. Akashi chuckles, and Midorima shoots him a look loaded with murderous intent. Deciding to stop Kise before one of his senior partners accidentally strangles his other senior partner, Akashi clears his throat.

 

“As joyous as the occasion is, perhaps we should carry on to our meeting before Shintarou collapses from asphyxiation, hm?” Akashi hums, and Kise blushes as he releases a disgruntled Midorima.

 

“Okay, Akashicchi!”

 

“Please do,” Midorima grits out, and Akashi hides a small smile as he gets to his feet.

 

“Very well, let us begin with a summary and review of last week’s earnings…”

 

+

 

“You had to point it out,” Midorima says irritably when he bursts into Akashi’s corner office during lunch break without knocking. On another day Akashi would fix him with a pointed look until Midorima grunted out a half-hearted apology, but today is a special case. The red haired man smiles serenely and closes the lid on the delicious bento Furihata made for him today.

 

“Beg pardon, Shintarou?”

 

“You knew Kise would flip out and go off on a tangent,” Midorima sighs, taking a seat in front of Akashi’s desk. “Couldn’t you wait for me to carefully tell him the news?”

 

“He would have reacted the same way regardless,” Akashi points out, and Midorima grumbles.

 

“That’s true, but at least I would’ve been prepared for a six foot guy trying to pounce on me thinking he’s a small puppy.”

 

“How cute.”

 

“Kise is _not_ cute,” Midorima groans, and if he were a lesser man he’d probably be banging his head on the desk. “Anyway, that’s not the point. I didn’t walk in here to discuss Kise.”

 

“Then what do you need? You are taking up my lunch hour.”

 

Midorima levels Akashi with a flat look. “You’re the CEO. Your lunch break is whenever you want it to be.”

 

“That is true. Carry on.”

 

“Well, actually, I… wanted to ask you for advice,” Midorima confesses, fidgeting slightly.

 

“About your wedding, I presume?” Akashi says, and Midorima nods.

 

“I have done adequate research on the subject beforehand, of course, but an experienced party’s opinion is always valuable.”

 

“Yes, I suppose so,” Akashi smiles, absentmindedly running his fingers over the silver band around his ring finger. “Well, I can send you a list of recommendations. I’ll include some of my personal favourite venues, shops and designers as well.”

 

“That would be preferable, thank you,” Midorima says, his shoulders relaxing a fraction. “I realize this is going to take quite some time.”

 

“Weddings can be extensive events,” Akashi chuckles. “But if they are planned and executed correctly, I do believe it can be quite spectacular.”

 

“You know, I don’t think anybody’s ever going to top the extravagantness of _your_ wedding,” Midorima snorts.

 

“How preposterous. My wedding was perfectly normal and modest.”

 

“Akashi. The tablecloths you chose were imported from Italy and cost more than a month’s worth of my salary, and you pay me _very_ well.”

 

“It was just for presentation,” Akashi sniffs, re-opening his bento. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of work to continue with.”

 

“Of course,” Midorima says, but he’s smiling. “Thank you for the help, Akashi.”

 

“Something as trivial as planning a wedding would hardly ruffle my feathers.” Akashi waves Midorima out of his office offhandedly. “But you have my sincere congratulations, Shintarou. I am happy for you.”

 

Midorima’s smile, if possible, widens ever so slightly. “Thank you,” he says again, and exits the office.

 

+

 

Later that night, Akashi is alone at home, preoccupied with brushing up on wedding planning with some research when Furihata suddenly leans down next to him, popping up from seemingly nowhere.

 

“What’re you reading?”

 

“Don’t sneak up on me, Kouki,” Akashi grumbles, straightening his laptop from where it’d slipped off his lap and onto the couch. “It’s bad practice to imitate Tetsuya.”

 

“I said that I was home when I walked in,” Furihata points out as he shrugged his bag and coat off his shoulders. “You were just far too engrossed in whatever you’re doing on your laptop.”

 

“I’m doing some important research right now,” Akashi says crossly.

 

“Yeah, I know how you get when you’re into something,” Furihata snickers as he leans over the back of the couch to peer into the laptop’s screen. His eyebrows go up and he asks lightly, “Wedding venues? Are you planning on getting a mistress without telling me?”

 

“Do not joke about that, Kouki,” Akashi retorts a little more snappily then he intended, and his husband leaned back, raising his hands with an apologetic expression on his face.

 

“I’m sorry, Sei, I didn’t mean to.”

 

Damn it. He hadn’t meant to sound so cranky.

 

“It’s alright,” Akashi sighs, closing the laptop in a conclusive manner. “I apologize for snapping at you.”

 

Furihata smiles at that, and it’s such a warm, sweet smile. “What did we agree about talking so formally at home?” the brunet prods as he leans over, nudging his cheek against Akashi’s. Akashi makes a pleased noise in his throat.

 

“Formal talk is for the office,” the red head recalls languidly, reclining back into the cushions as Furihata tugs his socks off and climbs over to snuggle up next to him.

 

“And no checking work emails after dinner,” Furihata adds a little waspishly, and Akashi laughs. “Cut it out, Sei! I know you were on your phone yesterday night. You’re breaking house rules.”

 

“Looks like I’ve been caught by my little detective,” Akashi teases, sliding the laptop onto the coffee table and wrapping his arms around Furihata’s waist, reaching for his husband’s hand.

 

“Don’t think you’re off the hook,” Furihata mutters, automatically slipping his fingers through Akashi’s as he leans over for a kiss. “You’re on garbage duty for a week now.”

 

Akashi frowns a once, pulling away. “Kouki—”

 

“No way,” Furihata interrupts immediately, grinning impishly. “You’re not talking yourself out of this one, Sei.”

 

“I was only looking through my inbox to see if there were any new notifications—”

 

“Mibuchi-san never forwards any messages to you until eight in the morning, and you know that.”

 

“Letting you talk to my secretary was the worst mistake I’ve ever made,” Akashi scowls.

 

“Unfortunately for you, I happen to know that there needs to be a division between work and home, so for as long as you’re stuck with me you’re going to have to take mandatory breaks to cater to my every whim and needs,” Furihata grins. Akashi tilts his head, hiding his own smile as he pretends to think it over.

 

“I see. It appears that as long as you’re by my side, I’ll have someone insisting I take breaks, eat well, _and_ rest well?”

 

“Damn straight,” Furihata huffs. Akashi smirks and leans in to nip at Furihata’s nose, making the other yelp indignantly.

 

“And possibly the occasional round of extremely athletic sex as well?”

 

“Seijirou!” Furihata splutters. “…M-maybe!”

 

Akashi bursts out laughing and Furihata groans, cheeks turning red as he untangles their arms and leaps off the couch. Even after so long, the brunet is still endearingly shy about Akashi’s forwardness sometimes.

 

“That is… maybe if you’re not too distracted by your phone to come to the bedroom,” Furihata suddenly tacks on, shooting a heated grin over his shoulder.

 

Scratch that. Sometimes Furihata can be the one who’s devilish as hell.

 

“What distractions?” Akashi asks innocently, leaving his phone onto the coffee table before rising to his feet, watching Furihata laugh as the brunet began walking up the stairs, purposefully adding a light sway to his hips as he went.

 

Emails could _definitely_ wait until morning.

 

+

 

“Hmm,” Kise says, one hand tucked under his armpit and the other tapping his chin. “Hmm.”

 

Akashi turns a page in his book and sips idly at his coffee, marveling at the subtle taste of vanilla that was most definitely Kuroko’s addition.

 

“Hmm,” Kise murmurs, planting both hands on his hip as his eyes narrow.

 

Takao had made himself extremely comfortable on the sleek leather sofa, legs propped up over the arm rest as he taps away at the satanic yellow bird on his phone, watching it glide through the gaps of the protruding green tubes with ease.

 

“ _Hmmm_ ,” Kise grumbles. “ _HMM!_ ”

 

“Oh for god’s sake, Kise!” Midorima screams, startling everybody in the shop but his boss and his fiancé. “If you’ve got something to say then say it already! This is a waste of time!”

 

“Eh! What’re you talking about, Midorimacchi!” Kise cries as he cowers from his coworker, which is quite ridiculous because Midorima is currently swaddled in layers of fine green material pinned up at the sleeves and inseams for his custom fitting and isn’t likely to launch an attack at the Kise any time soon lest he tear something.

 

“We’ve been shopping for suits for five hours already! Just pick one and be done with it!” Midorima seethes, tugging uncomfortably at the bow tie around his neck.

 

“No way!” Kise shrieks, previous terror forgotten as he swats Midorima’s hand away from the garment. “This is for your big day, Midorimacchi! I refuse for you and Takaocchi to look walk down the aisle looking anything less than stunning!”

 

“At the rate you’re picking out my suits we’ll turn into old men before we can even get married,” Midorima sneers.

 

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Kise hisses as he darts over to the rack of custom-selected waistcoats and slacks. “You’ve sat through meetings duller and longer than this.”

 

“Those meetings were productive, even if they were boring! Right now I’ve just been standing like a doll for you to play dress up with! My feet actually hurt, you moron!”

 

Takao’s phone chimes, and the man huffs as he watches his bird fall. His final score reads 169, and Akashi's eyebrow twitches for a moment before remembering that it’s probably bad form to strangle his senior partner’s future husband over the score of a silly game (the fact that his personal best is only 98 has nothing to do with anything).

 

“Oi, Kazunari, stop fooling around on your phone and say something about this,” Midorima snaps, doing his best imitation of a crab as he tries to shuffle back into the fitting room without tearing the pants.

 

“I would’ve said that you guys argue like an old married couple, but that seems somewhat counterproductive because I’d rather be the one bickering lovingly with you for the rest of your life, Shin-chan!” Takao says happily. Kise swoons comically and Midorima’s face flushes red.

 

“Thank you for your helpful input,” Midorima growls. “I’m still going with the first suit we picked out.”

 

“Ehh! Not the grey one!” Kise wails. “That colour clashes horribly with your hair, Midorimacchi! Well, to be fair, everything clashes with your hair, but that suit clashes the most! On a scale of one to awful it rests somewhere around horrendous!”

 

“Shut up, Kise! I’m changing out of this! We’re done here!”

 

“Maa, maa, let me help, Shin-chan!” Takao, whose perfectly normal black hair meant that they’d found a matching suit for him only an hour into the fitting, leaps to his feet and ushers Midorima into the change room. The curtain swishes shut and Kise sighs dramatically, flopping onto the couch Akashi is still occupying.

 

“Man, I didn’t know wedding planning was this complicated,” the blond groans, stealing Akashi’s coffee for a sip. “And Midorimacchi is an especially difficult person to begin with. This is a _literal_ nightmare.”

 

“It’s nothing that you can’t handle,” Akashi says smoothly, turning another page as Kise sticks his tongue out like a child.

 

“You’re quite at ease for somebody who’s handling a lot more work then decorations and clothes.”

 

“It’s not a big deal. I planned my own wedding,” Akashi says primly.

 

“Seriously?!” Kise gasps. “Just you?”

 

“I do believe the only other persons who helped me other than Kouki was Tetsuya and Satsuki. I’ll admit I’m not very particularly gifted at choosing colour schemes,” Akashi murmurs. Normally his father would’ve hired somebody to do the work for him, but the basis of his wedding had been rather complicated in a way that may have left a large strain between Akashi and his father… but that is old news already.

 

“Oh yeah, did I ever tell you that Momoicchi and Aominecchi are actually childhood friends?” Kise says excitedly, distracted as always whenever somebody mentions his boyfriend. “Talk about a small world! They used to live in the same town and they went to middle school together! Then Aominecchi moved away and I didn’t realize they knew each other until Momoicchi saw our vacation pictures from Cuba on my desk!”

 

“Aomine Daiki…” Akashi frowns, thinking. “You said he works with Teiko?”

 

“He’s a consultant at Rakuzan,” Kise says, naming one of Teiko’s sister branches.

 

“I see. Did Shintarou mention what Kazunari does?”

 

“He doesn’t work in Teiko, but he’s part of our building management committee. They met in Kurokocchi’s café, apparently! Isn’t that sweet?” Kise sighs dreamily. “You should definitely ask Kagamicchi to cater desserts for us. His sweet honey cupcakes with vanilla cream frosting are to _die_ for.”

 

“I do hope we’ll manage to avoid accidental murders at Shintarou’s wedding, Ryouta,” Akashi muses, and makes a mental note to ask Kuroko about the possibility of hiring Kagami.

 

The curtain slides open and a cheerful Takao emerges, followed by a cranky Midorima in casual wear once again. Akashi and Kise stands as a sales representative walks over, beaming at them.

 

“Did you find what you were looking for, gentlemen?” the man asks.

 

“Yes,” Kise says at once. “We’ll place an order for this suit—” he lifts up a muted onyx set that they decided for Takao “— and this one as well.” The other one is a dark ebony in colour, and while it is true that without careful planning Midorima could potentially look like a walking carrot down the aisle, this particular colour happens to appease all parties: Midorima’s natural hair colour and preference for conservative colours and Kise’s refusal to allow any more “dull black suits’ at the wedding.

 

“Excellent! Thank you for your patronage, sirs,” the man smiles as he gathers the suits from Kise’s arms. “Will that be all?”

 

“Yes,” Midorima practically growls as he digs his wallet out. “Now can we _please_ just pay and leave already?”

 

“Shintarou is right,” Akashi comments as he checks his watch. “If we leave now we’ll have just enough time to take a look at the locations I’ve picked out for the ceremony.” For added effect, he unlocks his phone and begins scrolling through the long list of venues he’d complied last night for the others to see.

 

Midorima doesn’t even bother disguising his groan of despair as Takao laughs and laughs.

 

+

 

“You’re up late,” Furihata comments as he appears at the doorway of Akashi’s study. There are two mugs of hot chocolate made from the Godiva chocolate mix Kuroko gifted them sometime ago, and it smells heavenly. Akashi slides his reading glasses off his face and accepts the drink with a wan smile.

 

“I could say the same for you. What are you working on?”

 

“That document on Yosen,” Furihata sighs, rubbing his eyes tiredly. The impressive bags under them are nearly purple-bluish in colour; Furihata never really handled lack of sleep well.

 

“Yosen, as in Yosen Research and Pharmaceutical Corporations?” Akashi frowns as the two of them walk out of his study. The second floor of their penthouse is mostly just the master bedroom and the office, but Furihata had brought Akashi a new shogi board for his birthday several years ago, so Akashi decided to add a new table in the spaciously empty area to set it up. The windows have a full on floor-to-ceiling coverage and gives them a great view of the city at night when they take a seat on the plush chairs.

 

“Yup. It’s the same old story again, shady deals and weird experiments and all that, but apparently somebody’s linked a steroid scandal to them, so my research team’s digging for more information again.”

 

“That’s hardly surprising,” Akashi snorts. “Your paper could do better than poking around a rumor.”

 

Furihata shrugs, but he looks tired and worried when he says quietly, “Thing is, the steroid scandal happened in a well-advertised sporting event. It’s been confirmed that somebody actually died over this. It’s a big one’s, Sei.”

 

“You’re investigating _murders_ now?” Akashi demands, unsettled. “Kouki, that’s—”

 

“It’s not so much a murder case as it is what Yosen’s up to instead,” Furihata says quickly. “And before you say it, no, I’m not dropping off this case either.”

 

“You’ve been writing about Yosen since your internship,” Akashi insists. “That’s far too long.”

 

“It’s precisely because I’ve been writing about them for so long that guarantees me a job,” Furihata points out. “Writing about Yosen guarantees _me_ a livelihood. Don’t you dare suggest I do anything otherwise, Sei. We’ve been over this.”

 

“I know,” Akashi says grudgingly, his grip around the handle of the mug tightening. Once upon a time, when he was still dating a nervous but determined university student dabbling in journalism, he’d asked the student if he’d like a more comfortable position at Teiko Enterprises instead, and was rejected with stammering explanations. Several years later, when he and the full-fledged journalist got married, he’d also insinuated that perhaps the journalist could live comfortably at home instead of crawling out of bed at 4 am because somebody phoned in with a tip, and was shut down firmly and instantly. Financially, Furihata was never dependent on him and had always refused to be, and Akashi supposes that fact wasn’t likely to change anytime soon.

 

A warm hand caresses his stiff one and gently pries his fingers off its death hold on the mug.

 

“You’re making a scary face again,” Furihata complains softly as he twines their fingers together. “Everything will be alright.”

 

“I’ll hold you to your word,” Akashi replies, closing his wary eyes momentarily. It doesn’t take many words to convey his emotions to his partner, and Furihata never needed a long, winding speech to pick up on cues from Akashi either.

 

“Good,” Furihata says, and he sounds satisfied. Their little bouts of arguments usually end like this— a compromise or a promise. What they can’t settle indefinitely usually results in going back to the basis of trust.

 

“Anyway, what on earth have you been up to these past few days?” Furihata demands, nudging his socked foot against Akashi’s calf. “When you’re not on your laptop you’re on the tablet, and you never do work on the tablet.”

 

“Ah, that,” Akashi says. He’d been so caught up in recent events that he forgot to tell Furihata the news. “Shintarou is getting married. He’s asked me to help plan his wedding.”

 

“Oh!” Furihata says excitedly. “No wonder! You’ve been working with Midorima-san for a very long time, haven’t you? It makes sense that he’d ask you to help.”

 

“He was an intern at Teiko when I transferred to the current branch I work at, so yes, we’ve been working together for a while,” Akashi smiles.

 

“His fiancé is Takao, right? The man with the dark hair who came over for dinner with Kise and his boyfriend?”

 

“Correct again,” Akashi chuckles. “Your investigative abilities are off the charts, Kouki.”

 

“Shut up, Sei,” Furihata teases, kicking Akashi lightly in the shin. “How does it feel like to be designated wedding planner again?”

 

“Not very different from my day job, surprisingly,” Akashi muses as he slides his thumb against the pulse in Furihata’s wrist. “I do think it’ll be a little easier the second time around, though. Shintarou and Ryouta may possibly discover even more reasons to nitpick at each other while planning, if that’s possible, but hopefully Kazunari will intervene before anything gets out of hand.”

 

“This is so exciting,” Furihata laughs. “I’m bogus at planning stuff, though, so don’t expect too many ingenious ideas from me, okay?”

 

“Nonsense. You were quite helpful when we planned our marriage.”

 

“That’s because you’re just awful at matching colours,” the brunet snickers. “Other than that, you handled everything else. If I planned our wedding it’d end up messier than the way we first met.”

 

“You exaggerate, Kouki.”

 

+

 

+

 

Seven years ago, Akashi Seijirou— the sole heir of the prestigious Akashi family, ambitious vice-chair of the Teiko Enterprises and genius extraordinaire— was twenty-three when he met Furihata Kouki (twenty-two, a week behind his laundry and halfway through his tattered and beaten-up copy of Christopher Marlowe’s _Doctor Faustus_ for his English Lit class). The thing was, everybody knew of Teiko; the international business conglomerate was well into the stages of being infamous for its solid foundations in nearly every modern metropolitan of the world and its ruthless way of taking down opponents, thus allowing them to eternally reign as the untouchable emperor above all.

 

Of course, Akashi’s daily routine was more or less a distant, untouchable lifestyle for a mousy, stressed out university student functioning on less than four hours of sleep a night. But what seared the memory of Furihata into the recess of Akashi’s memory was the fact that the man didn’t even remotely realize who Akashi was when the two of them happened to grab the last pineapple sweet bun— at the same time, no less, in a bakery on the corner of 5th Street and Stadium Avenue at 11:45 pm one chilly spring evening.

 

Nobody ever stood toe-to-toe with Akashi and lived to tell the tale, but it looked like the exhausted and rather disheveled brunet was trying his luck tonight.

 

“I grabbed that first,” he snaps, pinching the corner of the wrapping. The young man was wearing a ragged maroon hoodie with the words _Seirin University_ emblazoned on the front, decked out in heinous grey sweatpants and even had a chunky backpack slung over his shoulder and headphones around his neck. It was nearly the polar opposite of Akashi’s formal business suit; complete with the immaculate tie, waistcoat, and shoes so polished he could almost see the disheveled student’s reflection in them.

 

The brunet gave him a brief once over and had muttered something about people reeking of old money, posh restaurants and fighting lowly commoners for plain bread. Akashi figured that the other probably hadn’t meant to say anything out loud, but he narrowed his eyes and readied himself to attack nonetheless.

 

“Your stereotypes are incorrect and offensive. Also, if you haven’t noticed, the hour is quite late. There are no restaurants open at this time.” With that, the redhead executed a firm yank on the packaging.

 

“Can’t you just pay people to open one for you? You can probably afford it,” the brunet demands, pulling right back. They both sounds extremely childish and highly unreasonable right now, but heck, it was way past dinnertime and Akashi was _hungry_.

 

“Again, another stereotype. Also, I like to make a point of being polite to strangers I meet in the street, unlike certain individuals in this particular vicinity,” Akashi says coldly. Yank.

 

“Well, whatever. But I got to this bun first.” Tug.

 

“You most certainly did not. I picked it up before you.” Pull.

 

“Let go.”

 

“I will not.”

 

“Why don’t you just pick out another baked item from the rest of the store?” the brunet cries, clenching his hands into fists.

 

“I would but I don’t believe your unreasonable behavior warrants you this particular pineapple bun,” Akashi snaps back ferociously.

 

“You’re hogging it just because I’m fighting you against it?!”

 

“Yes, I am!”

 

The brunet opened his mouth to deliver another angry retort, but feeble little cough behind the two of them made them pause. It was the little old granny who ran the shop, and she looked curiously at them.

 

“I’m sorry, but we’re closed for today,” she said apologetically. “Perhaps you’ll come back tomorrow?”

 

The poor, abused pineapple bun hung limply between their grips, and then their stomachs growled in perfect unison. Embarrassment gave way to crankiness born out of starvation, and Akashi very nearly lost control. But in that very moment, the brunet’s eyes narrowed and the red head could practically see the other man silently and violently vowing to run him to ruin, and he found himself smirking widely instead.

 

+

 

Well, Akashi thinks as he stares up at the ceiling, blankets pulled up to his chin and fingers winding through Furihata’s soft hair as the other curled around him, snoring faintly.

 

Fighting over a bun like children and inconveniencing a kindly old lady— not only was their first encounter a _tad_ bit messy after all, but Furihata Kouki is the first honorary member of the “defy Akashi loudly in public” club who lived to not only tell the tale, but also become the one who’s shaped Akashi’s life in ways he’d never imagined. Go figure.

 

+

 

“Akashi, you can’t seat my great-aunt next to my cousin Shoko,” Midorima says briskly, shuffling a new batch of sky blue RSVP envelopes into the narrow sliver of clear space on his cluttered desk. Ever since the stages of wedding planning had moved into full swing, Midorima and Takao’s apartment had begun to look less and less like an apartment and more and more like Teiko’s mailroom when Hayama, the excessively energetic mailman, got hit with a rare bout of highly contagious stomach flu and couldn’t come to work for two weeks. Papers, wedding magazines, fabric samples and decorative knickknacks covered every flat available surface and had started to steadily take up floor space as well, making walking a difficult task. Akashi went to use the bathroom ten minutes ago and found the various orders for flower bouquets piled next to Midorima’s frog-shaped toothbrush holder.

 

“Why not?” Akashi frowns, scanning the dinner table arrangement on the kitchen table. That would certainly lead his plans astray, because the only other table the great-aunt could reasonably sit at was with some of Takao’s aunts, but neither parties were acquaintances with each other.

 

“Shoko is a tattoo artist and has more ink on her skin than the industrial printers in our office have in its toners,” Midorima sighs. “My great-aunt never approved of her profession, but she hardly ever approves of anything anyway, so she’ll find a way to complain about the event either way.”

 

“Then she’ll be right at home with my aunt,” Takao calls from his seat on the floor, where he’s busy ticking off the names of the guests who hadn’t returned their invitations. “Nice old lady who can bake anything type of pastry you can think of, but has more gossip to dispense in one sitting than the paparazzi can dig up in a year.”

 

“There we go then,” Midorima sighs, pushing his glasses up his nose as Akashi shrugs and carefully adds the great-aunt with the other gossipy aunts. The arrangement and guest list is shaping up quite nicely so far; Takao and Midorima had a decent number of relatives combined and the only other guests they’d invited aside from their friends from work were from university.

 

“What about your younger sisters?” he asks. “Would you want to seat them together, or have them sit with your families?”

 

“Dunno,” Takao hums thoughtfully. “They’ve met, though, and they seem to get along well. Wouldn’t it be more fun for two girls the same age to hang out rather than with our parents or that one creepy uncle?”

 

“I can ask Shizuka if she’d like that,” Midorima says. “She does like talking with your sister, Kazunari.”

 

“That’s good, ‘cause my sis never shuts up about how long and beautiful your sister’s hair is, or how long her eyelashes are, yada yada yada,” Takao laughs. “I bet they’re gonna be great friends and gang up against us when they get married.”

 

“Probably,” Midorima huffs. “Though I will make sure I _thoroughly_ investigate the partner of her choice if she ever decides to host a ceremony as crazy and financially-consuming as a wedding.”

 

“Dear god, you’re gonna be a force to be reckoned with,” Takao teases. “By the way, your cousin Takeshi, your friend Rei from university and your uncle Akinobu haven’t responded to the invitations. What do you want to do about them?”

 

Midorima’s hands, previously sorting the envelopes, go strangely still. Akashi looks up, and Takao remains unaware until Midorima takes too long to answer. “Shin-chan? You okay?”

 

Midorima jolts a little. “Sorry. I zoned out for a moment. Drop Takeshi and Rei a line, I guess; Takeshi’s a bit of an airhead and forgets things really easily. Rei is most likely still in Australia doing some work in marine biology and probably hasn’t checked his mail for some time. Don’t worry about my uncle.”

 

“Why not?” Takao asks, making notes on the guest list. “Isn’t he your mother’s brother? That’s immediate family.”

 

Midorima leans back in his seat a little, his mouth in a thin line. “I have not spoken or met with uncle Akinobu since my last year of high school. That was the same time I came out to my family and friends.”

 

Silence falls over them, and Takao looks up, a sad expression on his face. “Shintarou…” he beings, but then trails off.

 

They’ve all experienced the discrimination and hatred from others because of the gender they loved, Akashi thinks as his grip tightens on his pen, and then he feels an old anger rising up inside of him. If those close to them had chosen to accept them for whom they were— if the families they trusted had shown kindness and acceptance for their own kin— a lot of painful emotions could have been prevented.

 

(And suddenly, Akashi is twenty-six again, standing in front of his father with his chin tilted up defiantly and his cheek stinging from the slap across his face. Several bitter lines from Akashi had just dissolved the arranged marriage between him and a lovely but mutually disinterested girl from a well-respected family. The cold words of “ _You’ve disappointed me, son_ ,” hung in the air like a storm cloud until Furihata, who had been standing by his side the whole time, squared his shoulders and stepped between father and son. His words, “ _I’m sorry, Akashi-san, but if you won’t treasure your son, then I will_ ” was what scattered the dark clouds and brought Akashi’s racing thoughts firmly back to earth. In that moment, he had never been more grateful for Furihata’s quiet but unyielding determination.)

 

“Well, it was just customary to send him an invitation,” Midorima says, breaking the silence of the room. He gestures to the mountain of cards, flowers, and stuffed animals burying the table and adds, “Besides, the amount of support we’ve received completely dwarfs the negativity. Old resentment has no place in my life anymore, not when I’m happier than I have ever been in my life with the man I love the most.”

 

Akashi has never heard Midorima deliver a line that cheesy before, but he’d also never heard more honest words either. Takao’s lip wobbles as he promptly bursts into tears, launching himself across the room and burying his face into Midorima’s neck.

 

“Shin-chan, you god damned sap!”

 

“Oi, stop that, Kazu,” Midorima says, but there is a light, happy smile on his face as he runs a hand soothingly up and down Takao’s back. “Kise’s becoming such a bad influence on you.”

 

Takao just wails in a louder and highly accurate imitation of their blond coworker, and Akashi chuckles to himself as he picks up the rest of the invitations and begins to sort out the rest of the seating arrangements.

 

+

 

Two weeks later, Takao seems to be crying again, but for a wholly different reason.

 

“It’s official,” Takao groans as his head hits the table with a despondent _thunk_. “I cannot believe I’m saying this, but I’m full. I’m actually really, really, _really_ full. Shin-chan, please finish the rest of my cake for me.”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Midorima mumbles, looking vaguely green as he pushes his plate away. “I— I dislike sweet things.”

 

“Are you giving up already, Shintarou?” Akashi asks, flipping through his clipboard of neatly organized notes. “We still have three more flavours to try, you know.”

 

“Jesus Christ, Akashicchi,” Kise whines as Midorima goes even paler. “We’ve been doing food tasting since noon. It’s been four hours. I think I’ll _burst_.”

 

“Nonsense,” Akashi mutters, marking another note down. It’s important to keep a careful track of what types of food to host and what should be avoided. As far as he knows, Midorima’s father is vegetarian and Takao’s younger sister has a mild shellfish allergy, so it seems like they’ll be sticking to a lot of cheese and crackers for nibbles and a selection of non-meat dishes for the main course. “Let’s try the red velvet cake next.”

 

Takao doesn’t even bother disguising his groan of digestive pain as the waiter comes around with another plate of delicately sliced cake. They’re sitting in a reserved corner of the somewhat overpriced and elegant restaurant sampling everything and anything Akashi had drawn up on his list after a night’s worth of careful compilation.

 

“How on earth can you still keep eating?” Midorima demands as Akashi slices off a corner of the cake and sticks it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

 

Truth be told, he’d hit his limit somewhere around the fifth dish, one delicious vegan spring pasta alfredo with roasted asparagus and summer squash, but Akashi never surrenders. Ever.

 

“This is for your sake, Shintarou,” he answers instead, cataloguing everything from the rich smoothness of the cake to the odd aftertaste as he swallows. “You asked me to help you with your wedding, and I will do my utmost to ensure everything goes as smoothly as possible.”

 

“Akashi,” Midorima says in a strangled voice. “I can’t believe I’m admitting this out loud, but you’re doing a _too good of a job_.”

 

“I fail to see how that’s a bad thing,” Akashi replies dryly, taking another bite.

 

“Please stop eating, I’m actually starting to fear for your stomach,” Midorima pleads.

 

“I think I put on twenty pounds in one sitting,” Takao moans. “I’m not gonna fit into my wedding suit, Ryou-chan.”

 

“Akashicchi,” Kise whimpers, instantly pulling the puppy eyes and crocodile tears. “I can’t go shopping for clothes again. I actually don’t think I _ever_ want to shop for clothes again. Midorimacchi ruined the experience for me.”

 

“I suppose we’ll just go with the pomegranate and chocolate cake and call it a day,” Akashi sighs, ticking off the dessert on his clipboard. The red velvet had indeed felt a bit too rich. “I’ll update the menu and email it to you sometime this evening, Shintarou.”

 

“Yes, thank you,” Midorima nods, not bothering to hide his relief. Takao sighs happily and drops his fork while Kise staggers out of his seat in search of the restroom. The waiter drops by again and Akashi hands his credit card off to him, still thoroughly engrossed in the makeshift list of the dinner to fully pay attention. His stomach feels a little uncomfortable, but he had just eaten through a roughly seven-course meal for the sake of tasting, so he supposes it’s something to be expected.

 

Except, five hours later, lying in bed with the worst stomach cramps he’s ever felt in his life, Akashi’s starting to think that there may actually have been something in the red velvet after all. Furihata’s been checking in on him every hour or so with a thermos of hot tea every time, but Akashi knows half the reason why his husband’s been coming up is to snicker at him. Furihata doesn’t laugh outright because he knows it’ll just sour Akashi’s mood even more, but like everything else, marriage is about compromise. However, it’s also about subtle paybacks. Akashi’s already secretly snuck Furihata’s hot water bag under the blanket in addition to his own because he knows how territorial his husband is about hot water bags of all things, and is silently enjoying the extra warmth before the brunet will inevitably discover his theft and steal it right back.

 

Akashi sighs and settles a little more comfortably into the bed. The wedding is apparently taking a lot out of him, but the others are probably having a tougher time than he is. Kise is becoming prone to breakdowns for no reason and Midorima’s starting to look permanently constipated, so Akashi supposes it’s fortunate he and Takao are both relatively levelheaded individuals. Ninety percent of Takao’s calm seems to originate from a just-go-with-the-flow attitude, though, so perhaps he isn’t the best example to follow.

 

A knock on the door pulls him out of his thoughts, and Furihata appears in the doorway, holding a bowl of soup in his hands.

 

“How’re you holding up?”

 

“Better than before, I suppose,” Akashi sighs, slowly easing himself up on the mattress. “I don’t feel like vomiting anymore.”

 

“That’s good,” Furihata says, carefully passing the bowl and a spoon over before crawling into his side of the bed. “You scared me, you know, coming home with such a pale face. Even your lips were white.”

 

“I didn’t look that bad,” Akashi laughs, taking a careful sip of the broth. It was delicious; hot, not too strong, and had a slight hint of ginger that Akashi knew would help settle his stomach. He would need to ask Furihata for the recipe.

 

“So I’m guessing food tasting went badly?” Furihata asks, drawing his knees up to his chest as he watches his husband eat fondly.

 

“It was alright,” Akashi shrugs. “It was a bit of a let down, I suppose. The main courses were decent but the desert selection lacked inspiration and delicacy. At this rate I think asking Kagami Taiga to create our desert menu would be a far more suitable choice.”

 

“You know, I think Fukuda’s sister does catering. They’re pretty decent. Do you want me to ask him for a business card?” Furihata muses, scratching his cheek.

 

“That might be helpful. Thank you, Kouki,” Akashi nods, pleased. Furihata’s eyes soften as he reaches out to push back several strands of red hair hanging around Akashi’s ears.

 

“You know you can ask me for help, you know. You don’t have to organize everything by yourself again,” the brunet says gently, smiling.

 

“I know,” Akashi answers, leaning ever so slightly against Furihata’s fingers. “However, you’re just as busy as I am with your articles. I doubt you’ll have much time to spare either given how late you stay up researching nowadays.”

 

“That doesn’t mean you can’t ask,” Furihata says firmly, eyes narrowing. “You’re allowed to ask for help, Sei. I’ve always said that. You don’t have to maintain the persona of an aloof boss or the dutiful son here. This is home, and there’s nothing about you I hadn’t accepted when I married you, including the fact that you go into raptures over small kittens tripping over one another at the pet shop in the mall.”

 

“Damn this building and its ‘no pets’ rule,” Akashi murmurs, pushing the soup bowl onto the nightstand in favour of linking his fingers with Furihata’s. “But I suppose I’ll have to make do and spend my time with a cuddler of a husband instead.”

 

“Hey! I am not a _cuddler!_ ” Furihata protests. “You’re just a blanket hog! I get cold without the blankets!”

 

“Preposterous,” Akashi whispers, quickly leaning in to press his lips against Furihata’s over and over and over again, one kiss after another, each one lasting longer and becoming more intimate than the last. Furihata sighs and his hands slide up Akashi’s arms, past his shoulders and ghosts along his neck until they’re cupping his face, bringing them closer and closer as their kisses deepened. It is warm between them, Akashi realizes as his arms wrap around Furihata’s waist, and he wants to selfishly cling to the endless warmth Furihata offers and never let go.

 

“Kouki,” he begins, but then stops, half-formed thoughts tripping over each other in his mind.

 

“Mmm? Sei?” Furihata murmurs, seemingly content with sliding his fingers through Akashi’s hair whilst brushing their lips together. Whatever had been going through Akashi’s mind calms instantly, and he smiles, slowly reclining on the bed as he pulls Furihata down with him.

 

“Are you done writing for the night?”

 

“Even if I wasn’t, I’m extremely disinclined to move,” Furihata hums, curling around Akashi like a cat. His fingers trace over Akashi’s collarbone and he presses a light kiss to the side of Akashi’s neck, sighing with happiness. “Yeah, I really, really don’t want to move anywhere else now.”

 

“Me neither,” Akashi muses, stroking his thumb over the small patch of skin Furihata’s t-shirt failed to cover. “Stay, then.” _Stay with me forever_ he doesn’t say, but Furihata is smiling as his hands wander through the sheets to find Akashi’s, pulling his left hand up with his own so that their wedding rings can gleam together in the soft glow of the lamp, and Akashi can tell Furihata knows the unsaid words.

 

“I will.”

 

+

 

To avoid the rush and ridiculous amount of bookings in the summer, Midorima and Takao had decided on a spring wedding, and as the date approached, the amount of work and pressure for preparations and reservations was beginning to loom. It felt a lot like closing a business deal when one was ill-prepared for the handover, but with a lot less hassling relatives, food arrangements and probably the same amount of money. Planning has crossed over into actual work time, much to Akashi’s slight annoyance, because Kise is always fluttering around Midorima at the office, asking for his opinion from anything to the colour of the banner or the types of flowers on the table. Akashi is starting to get sick of physically separating the two of them when Midorima loses his cool and tries to strangle Kise.

 

It is more or less three weeks before the wedding, and they’ve made an appointment at the City Hall, booked a room at a beautiful banquet hall overlooking a quiet park with a river, adequately trained Takao’s baby cousins as the ring bearer and the flower girl. At least, he thinks they’ve made it clear to the little girl that she should be carrying the flowers, not eating them.

 

After a particularly gruelling phone session with Midorima and Takao over the some last minute decisions on the music selections, Akashi tossed his phone onto the sofa, tired but pleased at how the reception has shaped up. Furihata, on the other hand, is sitting on the other end of the couch scrolling through something on his phone with a peeved expression on his face. Akashi notices, and scoots over.

 

“Is something wrong, Kouki?”

 

“Sei!” Furihata jumps in surprise, dropping his phone. Akashi catches it (recreational basketball playing has yet to present a downside yet) and raises an eyebrow. Furihata blushes a little and snatches at his phone, but Akashi moves his hand out of the way.

 

“That was quite an overreaction. Are you alright?”

 

“I’m fine Sei— can you pass me my phone?”

 

“You look angry. Did something happen?”

 

“Nothing. Pass me my phone, please?”

 

Akashi raises an eyebrow, and Furihata furrows his. They hold off at a stalemate for several seconds, but Furihata cracks first.

 

“Sei, don’t—!”

 

Akashi glances up at the screen, and Furihata lunges, swearing, and Akashi catches several words that make his blood boil before Furihata yanks his mobile out of Akashi’s hands.

 

Furihata was on his email, and words like _stop writing_ and _or else_ and _we’ll ruin you for good_ popped out at him from the message. Akashi instantly levels a look at his husband.

 

“Who sent you that mail, Kouki?”

 

“Nobody I know,” Furihata mutters, but it doesn’t take a genius to piece together why Furihata is getting such hostile emails from anonymous people over his writing, and Akashi is far from being an idiot.

 

“This is about you writing about Yosen? Who is sending you those messages?”

 

“It happens occasionally, Sei. This isn’t anything new,” Furihata mutters, running his fingers through his hair in frustration, and Akashi sees red.

 

“Is that supposed to reassure me?” Akashi demands.

 

“No, it’s supposed to show that I can handle it. Don’t worry, Sei. I’m serious. This is nothing.”

 

“The hell it is.”

 

“If you’re going to tell me not to write about them again—”

 

“I never said that.”

 

“Well, you always do!” Furihata snaps.

 

“For a good reason, it seems,” Akashi retorts. “So not only do you get threats, you get them on a daily basis.” And you didn’t tell me, he thinks, but decides it best not to say it out loud. Furihata, smart as he is, probably knows the eliminated part anyway.

 

“I never said it was a daily thing. Have you seen the comments on our online segments? People write without thinking, Sei. Plus, this is just my general work email that’s listed under my articles. Trash and spam accounts goes through this inbox all the time.”

 

Akashi doesn’t answer; instead, he gets up and goes upstairs and shuts himself in his office for a while. It is a rude habit he hardly ever does and he hates walking out on an argument like that, but he’s upset, he’s angry at Furihata for not telling him, he’s furious at whoever sent that message, he’s—

 

Akashi sits down, pinches the bridge of his nose tiredly, and thinks: He is being ridiculous.

 

The world does not revolve around nice people and nice actions. Furihata does not need mollycoddling, doesn’t need Akashi to hover and protect him every day at every hour. Furihata is a grown adult, and to be honest, he’s probably heard plenty of people bash Akashi over his success or methods of running his business. Gossip magazines that aren’t even used as dirt rags have trashed Akashi hundreds of times, reported their ‘troubled marriage’ and ‘divorce’ several times already and made up even more stories about their personal lives. At this age and so far into their careers already, both of them have developed a fairly high immunity towards bullshit. Akashi feels an intense urge to thoroughly discard his father’s iron rule of _defend what is yours and conquer all else_ that had been beaten into his bones since childhood, because Furihata is not property or an incompetent child. Above all else, he does not need to be saved. People ought to discard that ridiculous romantic notion in this day and age.

 

When he cools off, Akashi exits his office and heads for the bedroom. The downstairs light is off, and Furihata is indeed curled up under the sheets already. Akashi walks over so he could sit on the floor next to his husband. Furihata looks at him wordlessly, blinking slowly.

 

“I’m sorry for speaking to you like that, Kouki,” Akashi says softly, brushing Furihata’s wayward bangs back. “Forgive me?”

 

“Forgiven,” Furihata replies, smiling a little. “Sorry for not telling you about the messages.”

 

“I trust that you can handle this,” Akashi murmurs. “You will handle this, won’t you?”

 

Furihata smiles wider and shuffles over a little in bed, making room for Akashi. The redhead toes off his socks and slides under the blankets, savouring the warmth and familiarity of Furihata’s body next to his. They share a quick kiss before drifting off into a state of half-sleep, with Akashi’s arm curled over Furihata’s torso and Furihata’s thumb stroking over Akashi’s knuckles.

 

“I’m going to run Yosen to ruin,” Furihata says, so quietly Akashi almost misses his words. “People are not experiments.”

 

Akashi smiles— he can’t help but think that, despite Furihata’s somewhat quiet nature and occasional nervous ticks, if he’d managed to convince his husband to work at Teiko all those years ago Furihata would’ve been a cutthroat businessman.

 

“Go get them,” he says and pecks his husband on the cheek, gears already turning at full speed inside his head.

 

+

 

The Friday before the wedding, Midorima busts into Akashi’s office as per usual, a pile of reports from the accounting department in hand and going on and on about how Kise is trying to style his hair when he’s having a Skype conversation with the consulting department manager from Rakuzan before he realizes that Akashi’s desk is already dominated by several large stacks of files.

 

“What’s all this?”

 

“Just something of personal interest,” Akashi dismisses, flipping open a glossy dossier. “Please leave those reports on the chair then, Shintarou. I’ll address them later. Also, please don’t strangle Ryouta before he can call his stylist for you.”

 

“Where on earth did you find all this?” Midorima demands, dropping the reports in favour of swiping one of Akashi’s folders. “Yosen?” He stares at all the folders on Akashi’s desk. “Akashi, do I even want to know why do you have all this material about them?”

 

“I wanted every last scrap of information on Yosen on my desk in two hours, so I received it in one and a half,” Akashi says coolly. “I apologize, but I do think I’ll be quite preoccupied for some time, Shintarou. I’ve got some reading to do.”

 

Midorima doesn’t move away, though he looks as though he wants to.

 

“Yosen is the pharmaceutical company that’s been racking up a bad name in the papers recently, isn’t it?”

 

“Indeed; that would be the company.”

 

“Why are you researching them, Akashi?”

 

“No particular reason,” the redhead shrugs. “This is just a bit of light reading.”

 

Years of dealing with roundabout answers has obviously conditioned Midorima well; the man simply suppresses a groan of exasperation before saying, “Whatever you’re up to, Akashi, just be careful with it. If you were to get shot down by a secret sniper hired by the company I really don’t think I’d survive my own wedding.”

 

“Why, Shintarou,” Akashi looks up, beaming. “Are you really saying that you need me to be there for you when you get married?”

 

“Of course,” Midorima says, though one of his eyebrows ticks as he says it. “Mostly because if you weren’t around I’d have killed Kise at least a dozen times already. I really don’t want to be arrested for homicide before getting married, especially after all the trouble we went through to plan it.”

 

“How touching,” Akashi smiles. “I promise you that I will not be assassinated in any way before you get married. Even if I did, I am certain that Kouki would vow revenge and tear the responsible party down with his journalism.”

 

“Well, I don’t doubt that,” Midorima sighs, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Just do your job, Akashi. You’re getting lazier.”

 

Akashi replies with willful silence and Midorima rolls his eyes before he leaves, shaking his head like a wary old man.

 

Akashi resumes reading and turns the page over, glancing at a picture of Yosen’s primary research team. It is a family run business with the husband, the wife, and their five children, each apparently experts in various fields. It is the youngest son, however, the catches Akashi’s eye— in the photo, he stands a whole head above everybody else and had his hands stuffed into the pocket of his lab coat as his eyes bored into the camera, expression empty and somewhat irked. There is the customary bio of the man’s work, where complicated words and lengthily research projects pop out as Akashi reads on. The resume is both extensive and impressive, but the man lacked the same level of involvement as his siblings. He is apparently a physicist, not a chemist, and, strangely enough, a graduate of the Culinary Institute of America.

 

Akashi raises an eyebrow. A physicist and a chef? Hardly the makings of a pharmacist.

 

At the bottom of the last page, there is a note about the son’s resignation from Yosen companies several years ago and the name of the new location he is currently employed at. Akashi reads it once, and re-reads it again in a rare moment of disbelief, but the words do not waver.

 

The venue is _Mukkun and Muro-chin’s Candy Emporium_.

 

+

 

That night, Furihata crawls into bed at three in the morning, yawning, disheveled, and smelling strongly of office coffee as he presses a tired kiss to Akashi’s cheek and flops onto the sheets without even changing out of his work clothes. Akashi rouses slightly, blinking sleepily as Furihata starts to snore into the pillow, clearly exhausted after staying overtime at the newspaper headquarters. Smiling fondly, Akashi eases the blankets out from under his husband and drapes them over Furihata’s splayed limbs, leaning over to return the kiss before reaching over the pick up his phone off the nightstand.

 

Nijimura would be one of the few people at the office until noon that Saturday, and Akashi knows he can count of him for anything time-sensitive and extremely ridiculous, like buying out Yosen Research and Pharmaceutical Corporations within the next seventy-two hours.

 

He texts Nijimura, and about five minutes later, the man texts back.

 

_From: Nijimura Shuzuo_

_Subject: Seriously?_

_I don’t care if you’re my boss, Akashi, 3 am is not the time to message me. Also, I think you’ve lost a few screws here and there, because you just asked me to be your proxy for a company merge starting in about five hours._

 

_From: Akashi Seijirou_

_Subject: Re: Seriously?_

_Can you do it, Shuzuo?_

 

_From: Nijimura Shuzuo_

_Subject: Re: Seriously?_

_Course I can. Who do you think you’re talking to?_

 

_From: Akashi Seijirou_

_Subject: Re: Seriously?_

_That is what I like to hear. I’ll expect updates from you throughout the day._

 

_From: Nijimura Shuzuo_

_Subject: Re: Seriously?_

_You owe me extra vacation hours for this._

 

_From: Akashi Seijirou_

_Subject: Re: Seriously?_

_Duly noted._

 

He shuts his phone off and curls around Furihata, sleep already taking over his weary mind. The real battle would begin tomorrow morning, of course, once the triggering event takes place.

 

The instigator arrives at 6 am sharp, in the form of _The Daily News_ ’ bold headline: YOSEN COMPANIES’ IRRESPONSIBLE INVOLVEMENT IN RISING SPORTS STAR’S STERIOD USE LEADES TO TRAGIC OVERDOSE.

 

+

 

Saturday morning arrives far too quickly in Akashi’s opinion, and when his alarm goes off at seven he knocks it off the bedside table before Furihata kicks him under the duvet, muttering about bad habits and “the fifth clock that’s been broken already”. Midorima and Takao were headed to the City Hall at nine in the morning to meet with their families, but morning preparations needed to be made and as Midorima’s best man, the event overlord and glorified babysitter, Akashi needed to be present in nearly every situation as well.

 

“Wake up, Sei,” Furihata yawns, stretching. “We need to be over at Midorima and Takao’s apartment to get dressed. Don’t fall back asleep now.”

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Akashi mutters as he attempts to slide out of bed, and then promptly trips on the sheets that tangle around his leg and falls face first onto the ground.

 

Forty-five minutes later, when they arrive at the apartment, Kise screams the moment he sees Akashi and grabs him by the shoulders.

 

“Akashicchi! What happened to your head? Why is there a bruise there?”

 

“Holy shit,” Takao says from where he’s standing, staring. “That’s— wow. Does it hurt?”

 

“Not anymore,” Akashi says crossly, rubbing at the discoloured lump near his temple. “Kise, do me a favour and just cover it up with something.”

 

“On it, Akashicchi!” Kise salutes and leaps for the bathroom, presumably getting whatever make up products he’d need to hide the bruise. Furihata sighs, patting Akashi comfortingly on the shoulder as they greet Takao, Kuroko, who is Takao’s best man, and Kagami.

 

“Shin-chan’s still changing,” Takao grins, jerking his head towards the closed bedroom door. “I think he’s secretly re-watching Oha Asa because he missed it this morning while panicking.”

 

“I am not panicking,” Midorima says at once, throwing the door open. He’s wearing his shirt, pants and a grey waistcoat, which compliment’s Takao dark blue one. There are red blossoms pinned into the buttonholes.

 

“Oh, thank god you’re finally out, Midorimacchi!” Kise cries as he bolts over to Akashi, uncapping the lid off a case of concealer before expertly sweeping skin-coloured dust over the bruise. “Come here so I can do your hair!”

 

“Tch,” Midorima scowls, but he sits himself down on one of the chairs by the island counter next to Takao. Kise whirls over to them at once, hair products and combs in hand. Kuroko wanders over to where Akashi and Furihata stand with Kagami trailing behind him, yawning slightly.

 

“Good morning, Akashi-kun,” Kuroko greets. “Hello again, Furihata-kun.”

 

“Hello, Tetsuya,” Akashi smiles. “I see Ryouta has already gotten his hands on you and Taiga.”

 

“Kise-kun is good at what he does,” Kuroko concedes, touching the tips of his neatly styled hair. “That hairstyle also makes Taiga-kun quite handsome.”

 

“S-shut up, Tetsuya,” Kagami stutters, turning an interesting shade of red as Kise finishes up Midorima’s hair and insists on brushing a stammering Furihata’s bangs back a little.

 

“I’m done, Akashicchi!” Kise yells, tossing everything into a duffle bag once he’d succeeded in making Furihata look a lot like a popular singer often seen on television. “Are we leaving now? Are we going now?”

 

Akashi glances at the soon-to-be-wed couple; Takao is fidgeting endlessly with the flower and Midorima skin colour is starting to imitate his hair. He smirks and gives the two grown adults on wobbly legs a little push out their front door.

 

“Of course. Now get married, you two.”

 

+

 

The official marriage had been simple, with Midorima and Takao managing to scrawl a reasonably passable version of their signatures onto their wedding certificate with shaking hands as their families watched on, teary-eyed. Their hands, however, did not shake when they exchanged rings, and Akashi had never seen Midorima smile so brightly as the photographer took photo after photo of them standing on the grassy lawn outside the City Hall on a crisp, sunny day.

 

They split up for lunch, with Midorima and Takao dining with their families as Aomine joined Kise, Akashi, Furihata, Kagami and Kuroko at a small restaurant downtown. Kagami and Aomine had immediately christened each other _Bakagami_ and _Ahomine_ ten minutes after meeting one another, and Akashi has a feeling they’ll get along just fine, if Kuroko’s constant eye rolls and Kise’s increasing temple rubs were indications of anything.

 

The reception that night is as packed and lively as expected— Midorima’s great-aunt and Takao’s aunt had instantly made themselves comfortable with the snacks and gossip whilst their sisters glided around the banquet hall, turning heads and making their protective older brothers edgier than usual. Midorima’s father compliments their choice of dishes that night, and Akashi greets and drinks with so many of Midorima’s relatives he’s already starting to feel a light buzz before the speeches have ended. Halfway through Kuroko’s piece, his phone vibrates against his thigh, and with a careful slight of hand, Akashi pulls it out and unlocks his screen to check the text message.

 

_From: Nijimura Shuzuo_

_Subject: Yosen_

_A Yosen rep just started a news conference on Furihata’s article now. Want me to bring the proposal in?_

 

Good, Akashi thinks, glancing up. Kuroko’s speech is a short and sweet recount of how he and Takao became friends at the café and how, eventually, watched Takao fell in love with the tall and silent businessman that came by every day to buy a cup of tea without a fail. Akashi is up next, so he sends a swift _yes_ in reply and pockets his phone just as the audience begins clapping, and he takes the microphone from Kuroko.

 

Speaking in front of large groups of people is hardly an issue— as a CEO Akashi handles many of company meetings and speaks at company-hosted events. It has been a while, though, since he’s spoken at a wedding, and the last one he’s attended was his own many years ago. He is almost envious of Midorima and Takao because they have so many family members and friends present— his own father would’ve just treated the event like an extension of work. Perhaps it was a good thing Akashi senior never showed up to his son’s ceremony.

 

“I believe that everybody deserves a certain significant other that they can find peace within,” Akashi announces to the sea of faces watching him. “A person that brings them warmth and comfort, become their safe sanctuary; their garden of Eden. And I believe that Shintarou and Kazunari have found that within each other. I wish them a bright and beautiful future in the happiness of each other’s company. Congratulations to the both of you.”

 

A smattering of applause follows, and Midorima finally stands to take the microphone from Akashi. His speech is less long-winded than expected, managed to cover his gratefulness for his family’s support, his husband’s family’s support, and for their friends. At the end, Midorima pauses, and takes a breath before he begins.

 

“To end my speech, I’d like to share a quick story with you all today. I am sure that you all know I have a hobby of following horoscopes, which many of my family and friends has described as not so much a hobby as it is a terrifying obsession. In regards to that, I admit there may be some truth behind that statement.”

 

A ripple of delighted laughter sweeps through the audience, and Takao, Aomine and Midorima’s sister all look like they’re going to pee themselves laughing. Midorima clears his throat, blushing before he continues.

 

“Today, I happened to miss the morning horoscope review. It was due to a moment of extreme nerves and slight panic, even though I vehemently denied that accusation when Kazunari suggested it. How could I not be, really, when such a life-changing event was going to take place? But, just like before, the lucky item predicted for Cancers happened to have a significant relevance to Kazunari, which boosted my confidence marginally. That is because my lucky item today is a ring.”

 

Midorima takes another breath, and he turns to face Takao now. The dark-haired man is smiling widely, happily. Amusingly enough, Aomine and Kise are now crying emotionally like small babies. Akashi will never let them live it down.

 

“To be honest, it’s a lovely coincidence, but I don’t think I’ll ever need to rely on lucky items ever again for as long as I live. As long as you’re with me, Kazunari, I won’t need anything else. So thank you. Thank you for choosing to start a new beginning together.”

 

Takao ducks his head, his eyes glistening with joy, and there is a rare look of affectionate adoration on Midorima’s face as everybody stands and the applause goes on, and on, and on.

 

+

 

At ten thirty that night, when most people have finished up desert and are mingling on the dance floor, Akashi’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He ducks behind Kise and leaves the blond to chat up some of Takao’s relatives as he checks the caller ID. It’s Nijimura, and Akashi can already feel the corners of his lips turning up in a smirk. He picks up.

 

“Akashi speaking.”

 

“Yo, Akashi. It’s a done deal,” Nijimura says, brusque and to the point as ever.

 

“Ah, Shuzuo,” Akashi smiled, swirling his champagne around in his glass. The liquid catches the light and sparkles. “I wasn’t expecting your call so quickly.”

 

“Well, I wasn’t expecting to have to call you so quickly either. I’m guessing you made your point quite clear in the proposal?”

 

“Of course. There is hardly any time to waste, is there?”

 

Nijimura snorts. “Sure, whatever you want. It’ll make for a nice headline tomorrow, the infamous business empire suddenly absorbing an equally notorious pharmaceutical company.”

 

Akashi shoots a look over at Furihata, who is chatting amicably with Kuroko and Kagami. “I’m sure it will,” he replies simply. “I’ll trust you to tie up any loose ends with this deal. I will handle the rest on Monday.”

 

“Sure thing,” Nijumura grunts, and hangs up. Akashi smiles to himself as Kise turns around to face him, his eyebrows raise so high they were in danger of disappearing in his hairline.

 

“Um, Akashicchi, did you just close a business deal in the middle of Midorimacchi’s wedding?” Kise asks a little incredulously.

 

Akashi slides his phone into his pocket, the sweet taste of satisfaction thrumming through his veins.

 

“I shall assume you neither saw or heard anything, Ryouta, lest you’d like to handle that meeting with Kirisaki Daichi coming up next month—”

 

“Oh would you just _look_ at that delicious butter roll,” Kise says brightly, grabbing the whole tray from a passing waiter. “Try some, Akashicchi, I insist. What were we talking about again?”

 

“Oh, this and that,” Akashi smirks, and accepts the roll with all the finesse of a well-mannered gentleman.

 

+

 

The wedding, unsurprisingly, is a great success.

 

Akashi can’t help but feel rather pleased with the overall outcome, especially when Furihata walks over after dinner and a couple of glasses of wine, a little flushed at the face and looking more relaxed than he’d been in days, and promptly pulls Akashi onto the dance floor for a dance amongst the various couples.

 

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Akashi asks, amused when Furihata stumbles a little into him.

 

“Midorima’s great-aunt keeps trying to ply me with more wine,” Furihata complains. “I’m sticking by your side for the rest of the night.”

 

Akashi laughs, wrapping his arms around Furihata’s waist. “Well, I’ve got no complaints about that.”

 

“Good,” Furihata grumbles. They’re not exactly dancing, per se, but they’re swaying together to a slow, soothing song Kise is playing on the grand piano after watching Midorima perform a couple of times before. The newlyweds are caught up in their own world, watching nobody but each other, really. Kagami is blushing and trying direct Kuroko how to step properly, but Kuroko seems more interested in burrowing himself into Kagami’s chest than learning. The lights are a mixture of warm yellows and light greens, and it keeps Akashi awake even though he’s little sleepy because of all the champagne.

 

“You did a good job planning this,” Furihata says suddenly. “Food was great, the activities were hilarious too— was it Kise who came up with the ridiculous ‘who does what more often’ game?”

 

“Kuroko did,” Akashi laughs, moving from side to side. “Devious man, he is. Everybody will forever know that Midorima is the one who leaves the dishes on the counter when the dishwasher is right next to him and Takao is the one who stacks the DVDs instead of putting them back on the shelf.”

 

“How terribly domestic,” Furihata sighs. “Are we nearing that middle-age stage of domesticity too, Sei?”

 

“Nonsense,” Akashi replies. “Youth is a matter of perception. Old people can grow increasingly youthful whilst the teens of today steadily grow older in their souls.”

 

Furihata stares at him for a moment before he bursts out in a fit of snickering. “Oh my god, you are so drunk right now, aren’t you?”

 

“Maybe,” Akashi answers grudgingly. “I had to drink a toast with almost two hundred guests tonight. Even I have my limits.”

 

“Let’s take the cab home,” Furihata says, and Akashi nods.

 

“You’re right, I don’t think I should be driving—”

 

“No, no, Sei—” Furihata grins, and then he’s pressing right up against Akashi, casually maneuvering them towards the darkened corner of the dance floor, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I think we should take a cab because you can’t really respond to me if you’re driving.”

 

Akashi sucks in a breath and cradles the side of Furihata’s face with his hand, his head spinning a little with the implications of those words. “ _You’re_ drunk too, aren’t you?”

 

“Yup,” Furihata replies lowly, and then he’s kissing the life out of Akashi, sweeping his tongue into the cavity of Akashi’s mouth with surprising smoothness for someone that’s been too polite to turn down the nine glasses of wine an old lady poured for them. It’s enough to almost make Akashi’s knees buckle.

 

“God damn it, Kouki,” he gasps, pulling off with a soft _pop_. “Forget the fucking cab.”

 

Furihata blinks, confused, but Akashi is smirking and leading the brunet towards the quieter hallway outside of the banquet hall. There is, for sure, several empty rooms not currently in use a few steps away.

 

“Oh,” Furihata says, and he grins too as he follows along. “Oh, _good_.”

 

+

 

+

 

“You bastard,” Furihata says from the kitchen the next morning, when Akashi wanders downstairs in a bathrobe and slippers, still feeling slightly hungover from the numerous toasts he’d had to make with nearly of all of the guests at the wedding.

 

“I am,” Akashi agrees readily, rubbing his temples. Furihata rolls his eyes and walks over, blocking Akashi at the foot of the stairs as he thrusts the printout of an email at his face. It is from one of the members of his research team— Kawahara, the name reads— and Akashi is completely unsurprised to see the Teiko’s and Yosen’s assimilation as the subject and content of the mail.

 

“You are slowly putting me out of work, Seijirou,” Furihata says, but he doesn’t look too angry, just exasperated. “Were you ever going to tell me about you buying Yosen?”

 

“It was very last minute and unfortunately confidential. I had to do the confirmation halfway through Kuroko’s speech.”

 

“You are shameless,” Furihata cries, throwing his hands up into the air. “God forbid Akashi Seijirou take one day off work. You’re going to be closing business deals in your grave, you workaholic.”

 

“Acquiring Yosen was a vital part of our business’ growth,” Akashi says mildly. “I do apologize in advance, though, because as you have stated, I believe any scandals regarding that company will quickly diminish. Teiko has a strict, zero-tolerance for improper work conduct and product distributions.”

 

Furihata puts his hands down and tilts his head. “So you’re going to try and change Yosen?”

 

“Not going to,” Akashi says, walking down the last few flights of stairs so that he is standing before Furihata. “We will change them. I will never allow such events to happen again.”

 

Furihata is quiet for a moment, his expression a little unreadable as he looks Akashi in the eye, but then he grins. “Guess I’ll have to find something else to write about from now on, then, won’t I?”

 

Relief is evident in his voice as he reaches up to cup Akashi’s face, and Akashi knows that Furihata won’t mind if he never writes a word about Yosen ever again, because there will be no scandals and deaths to report anymore. And really, isn’t that what the point of exposing and demanding a consequences for twisted actions was for?

 

“Why don’t you write about Teiko?” Akashi suggests instead, leaning into the touch. Furihata laughs.

 

“An exposé on the secret life of Teiko’s infamous Akashi Seijirou would be quite the scoop, don’t you think?”

 

“Nonsense,” Akashi smirks. “I hardly do anything interesting. I go to work, close some deals, and then hurry home, where I belong.”

 

“How dull,” Furihata grins. “What would the world say when they learn that you’re just a normal person after all, Sei?”

 

“Who knows,” Akashi shrugs, leaning down to press a soft kiss against Furihata’s mouth. “I don’t care what the world thinks. Your word is all I need.”

 

“Idiot,” Furihata laughs. “I only write the truth. Everything you are is what you made for yourself.”

 

“Is it,” Akashi murmurs, and he finds that he quite likes that theory. Furihata smiles gently.

 

“C’mon, Sei, let’s get started on breakfast.”

 

Akashi glances out the window— the view of the city in the morning is quite picturesque from their penthouse, and the peace and tranquility is a welcome atmosphere after all the excitement in the past couple of months.

 

“Let’s,” he agrees, and takes Furihata’s hand.

 

The clock on the wall chimes eight.

 

It is beautiful Sunday morning in spring.

 

+

 

_End_

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve noticed that my writing gets livelier by the story. That’s exciting. Additionally, a lot of stories featuring Akashi are so formal and makes him seem so cold and untouchable. I didn’t want him to be lonely, gah. But Furihata is kickass, okay. Seriously. I hope I managed to give this piece some happiness and joy somehow~
> 
> Also, Takao would be awesome at flappy bird, don’t lie.
> 
> My friends played the game ‘who does what more often’ game at their wedding too. It was hysterical.
> 
> Thank you so much for taking the time to read!


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